


catastrophe & the cure

by aeon_entwined



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, M/M, bonus points for anyone who can point out where it happens, dom!Tom is a good Tom, ft. interrupting!rdj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/aeon_entwined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game show was fun. Hell, it was hilarious and Tom loved just about every minute of it. Then Chris had to go plop his jacket against his chest like a goddamn <i>coat-rack</i> and Tom knew it was <i>on</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	catastrophe & the cure

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a collaborative effort with the lovely **[wantstobelieve](http://wantstobelieve.tumblr.com/)** on Tumblr! If you want to reblog the brilliant art featured at the end of this fic, you can do so **[HERE](http://wantstobelieve.tumblr.com/post/21529243494/brodinsons-catastrophe-the-cure-chris)**!
> 
> Also heavily inspired by **[THIS](http://v322321.tumblr.com/post/21295134720/chris-took-off-his-coat-give-it-to-tom)** particular press circuit event!

The game show was fun. Hell, it was hilarious and Tom loved just about every minute of it. Then Chris had to go plop his jacket against his chest like a goddamn _coat-rack_ and Tom knew it was _on_.

Now, they've wrapped it for the night and everyone's toddling off to their rooms at the hotel. There's another late-night show scheduled the next day, so sleeping in is on everyone's schedule.

In the elevator up to their floor, Tom makes eye contact with Chris and holds it until the little automated _ding_ lets them know they've arrived.

He inclines his head slightly, allowing the Australian to go first, and Chris gives him a slightly suspicious look before obeying and striding languidly out of the box. He pauses at the door to his room, keycard in hand, gaze now trained on Tom again who happens to be standing a foot or so to his left.

"Open it," Tom says, and his tone indicates he means business.

Chris obeys again (Tom could get used to this, he muses thoughtfully), pushing the door open and flicking on the light that illuminates the sparsely furnished hotel room.

Tom follows him in, then closes the door. Their handlers saw them to the hotel, but they've got free reign now. Still, doesn't hurt to make sure no one's going to accidentally come barging in.

When he turns back around, Chris is standing nearer to the sheer curtains drawn across the windows, arms crossed, expression both pensive and considering.

"This about me handing you my jacket?" he asks, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

"Maybe," Tom fires back easily. "Get on the bed and we'll see."

"Bossy," Chris shakes his head, then slowly begins divesting himself of his jacket, vest, shirt, and jeans. His boxers stay on but Tom remains confident that those'll be gone in a few short minutes.

He cocks his head, expression curious. "You're not on the bed."

"No, I'm not," Chris stretches lazily, cords of lean muscle standing out as he does and nearly distracting Tom from the prize he so dearly wants to obtain tonight.

He bares his teeth a bit, eyes narrowing. "Get," he takes a step forward. "On the bed."

Chris raises an eyebrow but says nothing, instead seating himself on the edge of the mattress and leaning back onto his hands.

Tom steps up to the space created by Chris' parted knees, then reaches down in order to yank his boxers completely off. Chris still says nothing, but there's the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his lips.

He tosses the boxers aside, not really caring where they end up so long as they're not in the equation anymore. Chris obligingly pulls himself the rest of the way up onto the mattress, back supported by the stack of pillows against the headboard and legs comfortably splayed.

His cock is half interested already, resting against his inner thigh and prompting Tom to swallow quickly before snapping his gaze back to meet the Australian's. Chris tilts his head a bit, but _still_ stays absolutely quiet.

Dammit. _He's_ in control here, not Chris. Why does it feel like Chris is predicting his every move?

_Because he probably is_ , a snide little voice in his head decides to pipe up. It sounds remarkably like Downey and that's something he's _really_ not interested in examining right now.

After raking his gaze up and down Chris' body a few times, Tom makes his next move. He pulls the drawer open, extracts the small tube, then tosses it to Chris.

"Open yourself up," he orders firmly, voice still low and controlled.

There's a look shared between them, but Chris starts slicking his fingers up and Tom turns his attention to divesting himself of his shirt, jacket, pants, the works.

By the time he's stripped himself bare, his cock is almost fully hard, throbbing in time with his heartbeat as he watches Chris fuck himself on three of his own fingers.

Now _that_ is a sight he's going to keep stored safely in his mind forever.

There's a light sheen of sweat on Chris' chest, though his breathing is hardly elevated. He's grinning, showing all his teeth, and Tom can't crawl up onto the bed fast enough.

Their mouths come together a little messily, teeth clacking painfully and tongues getting mixed up a little at the start, but they find an angle that works and melt into it. Tom sucks firmly on Chris' tongue before pulling away, the grey-blue of his eyes almost completely swallowed by his pupils.

"Ready?" he asks breathlessly, voice gone rough and just a little hoarse.

"Only been waiting ages for you to get your ass up here," Chris drawls, accent thick on every word.

If just to shut him up, Tom presses in between Chris' spread legs, lines himself up, then thrusts home in one smooth movement. He bottoms out, eyes going wide, then grabs hold of the top of the headboard to steady himself.

"Fuck," he breathes out, thighs quivering a little as he strives to hold himself still for a few moments.

Chris has got his eyes closed, brow creased a bit as he breathes through the initial flashes of pain/pleasure/pain. Then, once it seems to fade, he's bringing his legs up to sling them around Tom's hips, bracketing him.

"C'mon, hotshot," he grins, breath coming a bit faster now, and Tom thrusts his hips forward to try and knock that stupidly attractive smile right off his face.

It doesn't work.

By now, he's pistoning his hips back and forth, thrusting into Chris' body with as much force as he can manage without it tipping over into being too rough. (They've flirted with that potential before, but it just didn't seem to work for them. And it's all fine.)

Tom pants helplessly, hands flexing on the headboard as he tosses his head back and tries to pick up the pace, slamming himself into Chris while said Australian is doing nothing but grabbing hold of his hips with both hands and growling at him to go faster.

Chris can't orgasm from prostate stimulation alone, so he'll need to free up one of his hands sometime soon to help him along, but it feels so damn _good_ and there is no way he's letting up already.

"Ah .. fuck .. christ," Tom grinds out, eyes screwed shut as he feels his own orgasm starting to coil up at the base of his spine.

Then, there are hands on his face and he's being guided down until there's a wet mouth against his own, a tongue slipping between his parted lips and tangling with his. He groans pathetically, lost to everything that isn't _Chris_.

He lets go of the headboard with one hand, then fumbles between them to wrap sweat-slick fingers around Chris, jacking him with halfway practiced strokes.

_Finally_ , Chris gives this throaty sort of moan that means he's close and Tom can't help the way he jerks forward, hips thrusting erratically.

He pulls at the cock in his hand, tries to keep time with the rhythm he's already set up with his hips, but fails mostly on both counts. Tom buries his face in Chris' neck, panting wetly as he feels himself spiraling upwards toward the peak and hopes to god Chris is somewhere close behind him.

His orgasm finally slams into him, tearing a distantly pained groan out of his throat, and Tom can barely feel anything aside from white-hot _bliss_ for what feels like a fucking year.

When he's conscious of everything around him again, he twitches his hips forward, then keeps pulling at Chris, mouthing and nipping at the vulnerable throat presented to him.

"C'mon," he murmurs hoarsely. "So close, I can feel you .. c'mon, Chris .."

A low growl is the affirmative in that case and he hides a smugly pleased grin against the Australian's throat.

Then, with a practiced squeeze and twist around his cock, Chris spasms around him, coming with a bellow that almost sounds pained. He keeps stroking until Chris whines and tries ineffectively to move away, then lets go.

Tom disengages as gently as he can manage, then curls against Chris' slightly larger frame, exhaling a contented sound against the man's chest as two arms wind themselves around his waist.

"Go t'sleep," he says around a yawn, eyes already slipping closed of their own accord.

"Yes, sir," Chris rumbles, the hint of amusement not lost on Tom before he passes out in a comfortable post-coital haze.

  



End file.
